


What once was ours, what's now undone.

by hatressoflore



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, Other, ghost au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-02-21 13:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2469719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hatressoflore/pseuds/hatressoflore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something untimely happens to Clara - how will she and the doctor cope when  afterlife is confined to the Tardis; will she find out how she died; and can she find love in the life after death?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was a bit of a cliche to say that it was painless; she’d never liked cliches of course; being an english teacher, genetically disposed to distrust the things; but somehow it was so so apt, she was just there like a leaf blowing on the wind, that comparison she’d made so many times.

She wondered if her echoes had felt like this - even if she was regenerating, in a way different to the doctor; into one for her echoes, with some crucial parts of her identity left, and other’s to be removed; creating a chasmic void in who she was, who she would forget.

She was half astounded to discover she was the real absence of flesh and blood, and not just a little relieved - at least she could still have Ellie Oswald, Danny Pink; and yes, of course, that damn infuriating man, swimming around her head as per.

Then, she discovered, with less sadness than she would have imagined, if her own mortality wasn’t pushed straight back into her and the doctor’s minds alike, that she was not home; she had no mother’s arms to envelop her in the great big hug she needed, nor was she with Danny, to comfort him.

She was in one place the dead would never wish to be.

A place of arguments, of regrets piled on top of each other in a wayward stack, of a love that should never have leaked out of her, and gave her nothing but conflict on all sides. 

She was in the Tardis, of course, and God, did she hear the doctor cry. 

The tears unsettled her the most; silence she could deal with, she’d seen him deadly quiet; so quiet she could not be sure if he was even breathing, so quietly he had quarter to given into death; she had heard his babbling countless times, whether annoying or nothing less or more than joyful.

She’d heard his anger as much as they had both provoked it. 

He was crying now; in broken sobs; and she wished as soon as the sound fell upon her ears she never heard it; the crumbling of the great, great man above mere men.

She felt guilty at that - she would crumble too - she had, after her mum, for a while - why shouldn’t he?

Her name was not the only one coming out between them, regrets with name’s and dates of birth were rolling off his tongue, ‘Adric,’, ‘River’ ’Rose’, ‘Peri,’ ‘Ace’, and finally, a sad, sad sigh of ‘Susan.’

The most painful, perhaps. 

She was intruding upon her sorrows; and she felt compelled to move away, but her death had bound her, for some reason; as she struggled to remember the names she recognized from stories, always told with humor; always left with some form of tragic pause. 

Peri, she was certain she was ‘that silly American; it was like she wanted to catch cold’s with her clothing; but of course I always had to play nursemaid’, and she had only heard Ace mentioned alongside great explosions or great empathy.

The rest were part of smaller stories he was less inclined to remember, that evaded her memory, and more than just one name was too much for her to ever hear before.

He had a bloody list; she was going to cry, if she could.

If only, if bloody only she could find her body, in whatever state it was in, and breathe some life, some spluttering action into it, to keep her men safe; to keep the thought of her mortality far away from all of them. 

Danny had a list too; and she’d added to both lists, and cheated - though she never kissed this man she shouldn’t love;let alone half the other sacrilegious thoughts that caught her straying mind, and she’d be damned if she wouldn’t find some way back into life, if she could. 

Now she was trapped.

What if; her mind gave her a thought with far less immoral haze; what if, by some miracle,if I shouted loud enough; he could hear me - really, properly hear me; she grew giddy at the thought.

So what, was a brusque reply; she wasn’t going to change her convictions to get to that old elusive heaven .

”Doctor,” she tested out, only half hearing her voice, completely certain he couldn’t hear her through his crying, one gap so very briefly opened, ”Tell Danny,” she carried on anyway, ”it’s not his fault - I mean, I don’t know how this - whatever this is, happened, but it isn’t. It isn’t yours either - I think I’d know if I popped my clogs on another planet, or in another universe…this doesn’t mean I wasn’t right though,” she felt cruel, after saying it, for her stubbornness, ”me being here; it’s not some sticky plaster to make us perfect friends again - just to better, to each other, both of us, I suppose - just because I’m this; whatever that is, doesn’t mean I’m not still human.” 

She realized she was going too soft around the edges, a side effect of death - perhaps she could only inflict some pain onto him; as she had done when she couldn’t see anything but who he wasn’t - when she had heartbearts thumping on.

”I’m glad I’m with you - so if you ever hear me, we might talk things over - just let him know, if you can get him to believe me, I’m ok.”

She was saddened the Doctor didn’t make her immune from her mortality; which inflicted the greatest pains of all upon them. 

”Well, because you can’t hear me, obviously,” she laughed a hollow little chuckle, ”I have to say - I love you to. Of course I love you. Even now. That doesn’t mean I trust you though - or that I don’t love Danny too. I love you both, if I was married to either of you; it’d be an affair I couldn’t break off from either side. I couldn’t choose. What the hell does that make me sound like?” she laughed wearily again.

”Umm, so , I guess I’m polyamourous, then - thanks for that word; gender studies roomie, so um yeah - I should say I’m sorry but I’m not - you pushed me too far back then and while I had it my life was mine to live with my morality - I’m, so sorry for the timing, though. Don’t hang onto this. Of course you will; who am I kidding - you’re like a Klingon to anything that can make you hate yourself - I bet you even speak their language.Doctor, I love you. I wish you, or anyone could hear me.How don’t ghost go absolutely mad?” 

There was a gap in the silence, in which it progressed to a darker, subtler breed. 

She could hear it, like she never thought she could hear it; each change as clear as day; unclouded as each moral decision she made in his company could never be.

”So,” the Scottish lilt turned on, ”you’re a ghost then. I’m even inclined to believe in you.” 

The lack of pride scared her, she saw the smirk that paired with sadness, and then had to prepare herself for another excuse of his. 

”That wasn’t crying I was doing just then, Clara, I’m above all that.”

He was bad at telling it, but still, a part of that flimsy lie was gorgeous.


	2. Chapter 2

Of course it ‘wasn’t’ crying; of course he wouldn’t admit it. 

The feeling had been brewing for quite some long while that this man would sneer at her empathy – she could make no speech about his big sad eyes that wasn’t to his back as he walked away.

It bruised her that he mentioned nothing of her love, even though by all accounts she should have felt relief.

‘‘So, you’ve established that you don’t think I’m a dream – that’s good; that’s very, very good – but what now; what now I’m not?’’ She barely knew if her first opaque morning had even been a morning; if she was seeing or dreaming; she was in too vague a place to make any decisions.

‘‘Ah; you know me, at least a little bit; I’ll fly away from this all; forget it’s here. My eyes register you as flesh and blood; therefore flesh and blood you are.’’ In truth, he was surprised circuits hadn’t broken; that lighting hadn’t ebbed away, no bangs interrupted that painful conversation.

She loved him.

Was it just because she was dead, his cynicism asked.

He knew he couldn’t answer. 

‘‘Of course; the universal order hasn’t changed for you, as much as I know you’d love it if it had – the specifics of getting someone who’s not meant to exist out onto a planet are new to me. I will try, Clara; I can promise you that – you will not spend you’re afterlife here, of all places.’’

It was at this the machine bristled; sending out a flat whirring noise; offended that it wasn’t thought of as an optimum heaven.

Clara wasn’t; but some deep void replaced offense; she’d thought her loss would cause some loss in him; and now he was pretending (or not, the little voice sent out its oil) that it barely registered with him; she felt vindictive for the thought; she should have allowed him a life unburdened by her, in every short, distant imagining of mortality that crossed her mind.

‘‘It’s not so bad – plenty of rooms; at least – and I bet I can sneak through every one of them, now, so no more secrets for you. Wonder if I can walk through walls; that’d certainly be something.’’

It churned his stomach, for her to be so cheery, stuck with him forever – every single other one had left; they hadn’t seen him crash and burn, flare and fade, and always, always get worse before he got better, in an endless cycle.

She thought now that it was something to be made fun of; just like she thought that him having shaved the finality off a war shaved off all his guilt.

There was still blood on his hands; a chorus of lives he couldn’t save; Romana and Leela, most probably had died and he hadn’t saved a great deal of people by not pressing that one button - Gallifrey had dwindled into hopelessness long before the final day.

‘‘Don’t’,’’ he waved away with his hands, clearly repulsed, ‘‘just, please don’t say that. I don’t want to think of you through walls,’’ an odd sentence, surely; but some vulnerability there – ‘‘and my privacy is to be kept intact, whether you’re dead or not, so no poltergiesting and throwing things out of my wardrobe. ‘’

He had killed it quite successfully.

‘‘What makes you think I’d want a look through your boxer drawer anyway? What have you got hiding in there?’’ She laughed, feeling the serious. conversation. She should have had ebbing away from her reach.

It didn’t mean she wouldn’t have it later – but her death had been a blow enough; she didn’t need to add to his burden.

‘‘Well, this is no place for wondering about ghosts. Take me somewhere that I’m meant to be; some grand old spooky house – I can see my next abode then, if I ever move on. Perhaps I can move out on you; stop you feeling so bad about me. It might be for the best.’’

Yet both of their hearts sank when they thought of spending hours of madness and sorrow without each other.

She was meant to be there – the grand old manor part was just window shopping; for a later date she didn’t want to think about.

‘‘I am not going to let you go just yet – there’s a reason you’re here Clara; and I don’t think the old girl would be willing to let go just yet. Go wherever you can; whenever you want – just after we’ve made a proper goodbye of it.’’

A proper goodbye, offered by the man who hated them; she was privileged.

Of course she was; she was a lucky old ghost who got to be with someone she loved; she adored enough to be angry with, truly angry and heartbroken by; when plenty of others in films and books where stuck with new tenants or old enemies.

It would be cruel to think of what it would be like; being with Danny or her mum, cruel to all of them; this was whatever sort of life after life she could hope for; and she wasn’t going to spend it making one of the men she loved sad.

Cushion the blow; pull out all your stops.

‘’Yeah, well – window shopping; not going get off your back just yet – don’t think you’re that lucky. Besides; it will help me find things out; what I can do, what I can’t. It will feel more like dress up than the real thing too; playing pretend. It’ll be miles better to discover horrible things somewhere where they’re meant to happen than on some alien planet I can’t even walk on.’’

Despite trying to come up with reasons, he couldn’t say no to that; not that he could say no to her in any case.

He brushed his hand next to hers; forgetting everything like the fool he was; thinking they both needed, both deserved it; but it wasn’t eerie, wasn’t disgusting; it was soft and light and made him ache for the reality; the three dimension of her skin, that, if he was not so adverse to touch; he should have mapped out every day before she went away.

He barely even twitched his lips; composed as he could be, but feeling him, where she couldn’t not feel herself sent a lump in her throat; and her eyes turned to watercolours.

She would swallow the sobs that could have come, if she decided not to act.

‘‘As you wish.’’ A feeling it referenced a film niggled in the back of his mind; but he flicked the switched as they went away from all their unreality; into some dark house.

As he opened the door, he saw it was not her wish at all; the Tardis was up to stubborn tricks, and he ached with the feeling he might disappoint her.

It was no other street, than one of Paris; meant for lovers left alive.

‘‘It’s not..’’ he couldn’t find the words; the tone, should be make a joke of it; push it away, try sincerity; it was, like every other minute of this burden of a day, riddled with questions and absent of answers.

‘‘It’s alright,’’ she smiled; it’s very pretty now; in the sunset,’’ she could at least look out, ‘‘so I think I’ll have to try it anyway.’’ Her feet wouldn’t move none of her would flinch; this could be the final penance she had to pay, to be locked inside rooms, never to feel fresh air.

‘‘It’s a bit like a kid riding a bike,’’ she tried for an apology, ‘‘guess I just need someone to promise to hold my hand?’’ She’d never suggest it to him before; and he of course was the same man; but he was more malleable today. 

‘‘Of course,’’ he bowed, playing at chivalry and feeling far too clumsy for it.

She sucked in her breath, and her leg moved a centimetre; then more, until her feet were one step away from final knowledge.

She closed her eyes as her stomach plummeted, her hand outstretched in any case, her feet finally landing on the pavement.

She opened her eyes; gave his a squeeze, and jumped up to hug him, smiling and cheering so much that she could sing; and this time, he hugged back; joyous as she was, laughing in triumph against the order of the world.

‘’Excuse me; why are you bending over like that?’’ a concerned stranger asked; the first to offer words to the sea of confused eyes; the closure that they hadn’t won fully at all; that she could be not seen or heard; and that he was just a laughing mad man half way into a crouch.

‘‘Would you like me to phone….someone?’’ he asked with genuine concern.

Tears replaced the brightness in her eyes; to everyone but him, she was nobody at all; not even a hint of an idea, and she felt him slide back into his ordinary stance, the way he looked resigned; the lines on his face more pronounced.

‘‘Oh, well; at least I can walk around; just makes it easier to do this really,’’ she sighed, voice breaking, threatening a palpable sadness; placing a kiss on his cheeks.

He had tried, and she loved him for it and everything else as well.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is getting darker than the fluff it was 0-0

Paris really was the perfect place for a kiss that shouldn’t have been ignited.  
Maybe she wasn’t the best at timing; perhaps it was more than a little callous of her to give him such contact which he made absolutely clear he didn’t want before; and the length of time his face seemed frozen was clearly not something she was obsessing madly over; wondering just why his eyes were at that angle; how on Earth they could hold such charm when they were filled with something that for both of their sakes, could not be love; even if she had confessed to it.

‘‘You really couldn’t have done that with a heartbeat; could you?’’ He deflated; eyes too grim for insult or injury, the double meaning palpable as always. 

Of course I could have; if you’d shown me any signs apart from complete contradiction; I would have gladly, if it wouldn’t have hurt Danny.

Danny.

Clara; meant to be the moral compass of a time lord; proved far too human for her job description.

An icicle of guilt ran through her; she’d forgotten him and his happiness willingly; just to relieve her of some sadness.

Any other time; she’d agonise over the morality of a dead woman kissing someone other than her boyfriend, but looking into those eyes of steel; waiting for one other sentence to pass from his lips ; all she could do was hope that some dog had gone to the toilet on her grave like she deserved.

Inexplicably; she wondered if it was cosy; that coffin she was no doubt meant to lay safe and snug in; if her dad had put in fozzie; the old scruffy teddy bear she was too sentimental to put in any charity shop; despite the fact he was tucked away from the inquiring eye; nice and cosy between her worst, ‘period only’ clothes.

Great melancholy swept over her, thinking of him anywhere but there, in that little drawer of hers; all alone and unsnug where she was meant to be.

Then of course, she thought of her dad; and then again, the mum snatched away from her so many times.

If only he would blink; so she could tear herself from those cruel and glorious eyes.

He had turned her into many things; none of them particularly good; but silly was not an adjective he’d have used for the girl before she went and did that.

It would feel bittersweet however delivered; a kiss with only the most innocent and pale of loves behind it; but it was worse that he could feel it burning and yet when her lips touched his skin, it felt only like fever; like the death he’d always lingered on the edge of, never brave enough to jump in, never allowed in any case.

How was it something could only look so beautiful when it shouldn’t?

What on hell or earth or both combined could they do when she made him look less like a tolerable mad man, and more the pitied one, far worse for both of them – she could only be by his side if she kept her mouth shut – a position it always rebelled against.

Slowly; and far too silently, he walked into the Tardis; her trailing behind as was the only option; wandering if she could test which walls to go through; what dark room to go to let her thoughts go.

Maybe; just maybe, she was in hell after all; if she couldn’t go to sleep and close each day in bed.

Suddenly, any eagerness she had to test herself came into drought.

‘‘Clara; that was, that wasn’t my fault,’’ his voice stretched out weakly, as if a convincing argument could be made for anything else, ‘‘I promise; you will get out of here; I swear on every little yard of my home that you will go out into the world and grasp it with both hands; because I am not going to let you stay cooped up in here if you go and do stupid things like that.’’

Not that it wasn’t his favorite stupid thing to date; a wonderfully headless thing he’d bottle up and sell as joy; if only it wasn’t from her, who still had a whole life to prove mortal with; who would never want to be stuck with him for eternity.

Briefly; he wondered how he’d manage being stuck with her forever – before deciding he’d take up a nomad’s days; wandering everywhere empty enough for him; so she’d never have to face him.

‘‘It was a good stupid thing, though.’’ She joked; laughing in a way too shaky for his liking; her throat bobbing up and down; eyes losing any focus; the outline of her, filled before, turning just that tad too white for life.

‘‘Maybe this will be as well. Sorry, in advance.’’

Her stupidities were becoming too many; and she had another one from nowhere to add onto her list; she ached to walk around the globe, the steps of her feet defining her; undefinable by any other eyes; and then her hand burned, and just had to touch a living thing; to remember what they felt like.

She’d never wanted to stroke the outline of his skin; that was far too innocent, and she was after all, a dead girl walking.

Her hand went through his back; exploring for signs of organs; instead finding something heavy, but quite soft; with a velvet like furnishing; something that felt distinctly blue and smelt of overwhelming lilac; senses she’d never dream of coming to her as easily as breathing did.

The warmth of it was like a bath with candles at the end of hard school’s day; hot, but not by an inch too far, inviting; enticing, begging for the real world to be forgotten.

Shuddering; he groaned at the feel of it; twice as awful as the kiss at least – she really was punishing him, wasn’t she?

‘‘Ok; I vote on you not doing anything like that to me ever again – go through walls, please; just not through me – you might muck up something internal there and I don’t want another face already.’’

A wicked smile really shouldn’t have crossed her lips; but she had liked it, herself; it was like one of those lucid dreams she’d steered away from in Uni, all those things floating around her; all that lovely knowledge flowing over her and easy too.

The feeling of life; the beating warmth of it; when he gave only glacial looks; it was wonderful; and she was proud she had the strength not to lick her lips at first contact.

He was lovely.

He caught her look; not a look he’d seen since she stared him down when P.E proved himself to be a scourge.

Unusually for her; there was no sadness in it; she didn’t seem that strange little girl, far too frightened to admit she’s scared that he’d seen so many times and never had the words in his possession to help her.

It will all be alright seemed too patronizing for the both of them; and human lives are only interesting because they move around so much; your spirits will be up again by Tuesday seemed callous – he could only banter once he’d ruled out mortal danger.

It was always mortal danger when she had a ‘look’ about her.

This once just seemed of an entirely different kind.

Focus on red lining; not his face; she had warned herself; inspect the buttons, the little specks of dust on the jacket he’d like to think immaculate; but she turned to his question of a glance anyway.

Perhaps she had licked her lips; thinking of life; the very thing he had too much of.

Just that hand; just his back; and it felt like it did – what on Earth would the rest of him feel like – if she ever walked through him; how could she stand to be so near to what had caused the biggest mess of all.

A completely unalterable mess; that was bound to seep into them both.

‘‘I already said sorry,’’ she said without defensiveness; as easily as she’d say the sky was blue, ‘But I will try it out on walls in the future.’’

But you’re so warm, she thought; residue of guilt just rearing its head.

Her whole body ached remembering the sensation.

It was not right to have wanted two men to lead on a merry dance; it was not right to kiss the man who wasn’t mourning, who was nothing official in any way.

Those little sins were trifles compared to the new thing implanted in her mind.

She wanted her warmth back.

The ship began to grumble and creak, lights flashing; some sort of warning; but the science was incapable of erasing impossibility; and she stayed put where any human threat would have triggered some warning system.

Hunger – well that had always been a thing when she looked at him; a desire to know what the void was that opened whenever she caught his eyes; why her heart had fallen into her stomach where it rested like a stone.

That hunger was love; whether he’d accept it or not, but this was its inverse.

Did this happen to every ghost; the incubation period where they tested their morality; fragile as china?

She focused on the new stone of need; squinting her eyes in an almost comic way; concentrating only on the exquisite pain of it, on the beauty of what had to be his soul.

She separated her soul from the vacant, bug eyed wisp of a body that she could marvel at and be disgusted with; if she didn’t know her target off by heart.

She stopped too far short of contact; relief ebbing from her; as she threw sweet nothing in his ear, biting on her lips – this afterlife was to have more answers than the endless questions she’d faced before.

Hands traced his back, before his elbow jolted her away; the push reuniting her with the shadow of the body she knew.

‘‘I know my Clara; and I know that she’s far too concerned with tip - toeing around things to do anything like that; so whatever this is… get. It. Out.’’ He seethed.

God was he right – she’d have to sleep on it; if that was at all possible; and that obsession of hers; sparked so easily and oddly, would go away with all the rest of her teething problems.

Perhaps there was some ghost anonymous as well.

There was so much to be lost; and nothing to be gained; nothing but a life that would go far away anyway – if she wanted the warmth from his soul; the only way she’d get it was to earn it, for them to acknowledge it as well.

It was not something she could rip from his body; and that was not something she’d ever want to do; leaving him to hate her and to hurt in oh so many ways.

She knew the second she lay into a nice warm bed; hot tears would trickle down at the intrusive thoughts; that she would wish that her soul was a better one; that whatever had leeched onto it could be ripped away.

Most of her still loved him; utterly, but a part that wasn’t most had won for those few moments.

She told him she didn’t know who he was anymore; when he changed out of that comfortable and easy man; but losing herself was an even scarier prospect.

‘‘I…’’

She learnt there and then that the Tardis would flare away with orange glare and screech like a broken violin whenever she crossed rooms; because she went straight to the bed she’d called her own; with an armful of questions again; and answers she may well not want to hear.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A more tonally balanced chapter; with a mild allusion to Classic who. :) I also hope it proves; despite how I think Danny is as flat a character as a balloon with the air sucked out; he's very good to Clara and very kind; so doesn't deserve to be bashed despite his one dimensionality.

Her bedroom seemed just as alien as the Doctor did; everything left in the most orderly, pruned little pile of mess signifying how long she had intended to stay with him; and how each of them lost their rationality so easily when it came down to that fight.

He was going to hate her; wasn't he; and wasn't it going to be all her bloody fault?

Was I hit, she wondered; by a car, did I poison myself with another recipe gone awry; or did my breath just leave me of its own accord?

She had no marks on her, that she could see; and the only pain she could feel was emotional and mental; even though those seemed far too formidable to be classed as any sort of only. 

The Tardis; just having learnt to comply with her , would hate her even if the doctor couldn't bring himself to; she was surprised she hadn't burnt any wires; but then again, the constant other woman in all his travelling life would overshadow anyone with, if not reliability; a sense of rightful smugness. 

Calling her an old cow; even mentally was mean; but hey, who had better cause to be than ghosts? 

The sheets felt so soft; and the temptation to wallow and try to sleep was a big one; and once she found she could, if she could she doubted she'd wake up for weeks, but another temptation beckoned.

The temptation to live up to her ghostlyness.

She went back to the console with the same rush of energy that pulled her to her room; he was gone, probably wearily contemplating all sorts of things. 

It blinked, emitting shrill 'vworps' and hums; a glaring 'I dare you.'

Clara never backed out on a challenge.

She slipped through the mechanics; knowing they'd emit some sort of elect scream; thinking only of how she'd deal with him forever, who else dealt with him, probably far more compassionately; far more equipped to spend a lifetime. 

Once she opened her eyes; the first thing she saw was young woman throwing some sort of powder onto the 'technicolor dreamcoat' version of the Doctor; squatting behind the console and laughing as he huffed about, with the same self righteous look each Doctor adopted on occasion.

Clara felt some twinge of sadness for the girl; so carefree, who's never get to stay with the Doctor blown apart by tragedy or humanity.

The one good thing about leaving the realm of flesh and blood was that she'd never have to say goodbye.

But she'd bloody wanted to - she was getting so sentimental - he had been the opposite of a hero; of a saviour, with bluntest disregard for her and god was she proud of storming out.

She could never leave him now; even if he became far worse than that.

He wouldn't; the little voice said. 

He couldn't, not that man.

the same little voice hat said she was selfish and stupid to walk away; she was throwing her dreams away with that stupid little extra love of hers she couldn't live without. 

All her thoughts were swimming around her head again; no room left for clarity; and she wished so dearly she could speak to that bright abandoned; play twenty questions so the noise in her head would dissipate.

''How do you forget to love him?''

'How do you cope when he gets far too dark, and far too lost from you?'

''When you're becoming just like that too?''

''Where did you get the confidence to wear something that figure hugging?''

Of course; the one she knew would have a clear answer, ripe for the bonding of two companions over, ''how do you quell the desire to steal his soul so you feel warmer?''

Ah yes; they'd be bezzie mates after that one, she sighed. 

As someone lost within their head couldn't notice; the mix tape of memories was still playing; now there was a girl; very pretty, very blonde; kissing the version of the Doctor not even one of her echoes had caught more than a glimpse of.

That kiss was universe saving; throbbing with alien and energy and passion alike; and seeing two people in such clear adoration churned her stomach - Danny was lovely, he was kind; but he was not the doctor. 

The Doctor was the Doctor; but buried his kindness and wan't often lovely. 

She was in love with both of them; and for this very reason, neither of them could ever share a kiss like that.

The Tardis was probably getting revenge for her frying her circuits; Clara thought; calling her far, far more than a cow, trying to pretend her eyes were not moist at all at this reflection. 

Kisses; laughs, tears, her Victorian echo; her own entrance into the Tardis all passed her by in a frenzied montage she could not pay any attention to; stuck inside herself as she was, mulling over every option, every regret just like a certain time traveler was prone to do. 

Just as she caught sight of her own blotched face and tear filled eyes; shouting at the enigma of an alien; the nausea in her stomach turned from the biting of self doubt to something more overwhelming; making her weak at the knees; her head, that had inflicted so much upon her in so little time was reeling; she felt like, if she was a substantial being, she could vomit.

She heard a last triumphant chirp from the machine; before her own blackout.

''Clara?''The Doctor choked,leaning over her; his eyes firmly set to grim.

''You've been out cold for the last week now; if I couldn't see you I'd have thought you'd passed on.'' Still some unfinished business, his eyebrow raised; his eyes glinting.

He was flattered that by the setting she was confined to, that business was to do with him.

Not PE. 

''I was worried senseless; thought I'd have to take a new companion on; the boredom was driving me insane p- have you ever tried doing nothing but observing an unconscious human for 48 hours? I nearly did you know. Till I thought of how they'd react to you.'' 

Strange - she could have sworn this version of him was far less prone to babbling; although sleep deprivation did do some odd thing to people. 

Rather sadistically; it was quite satisfying to see him worn over her, very sweet, by his standards;and her adoration of him was far over shadowing that pesky little instinct to put her hand back and swallow that lovely little orb whole. 

Ah - so that was still there then.

He'd heard the Tardis whine and moan like an Earth adolescent; the lights flickered back and forth from over saturated lighting to pitch darkness, and, worst of all; although his ship was giving his poor new ears some cause to bleed a thunk of epic proportions. 

He still wondered how exactly she thunked - she was quite a compact thing; to be sure, but he thought someone with no internal or external organs would be a bit quieter when falling to the ground.

No; he could save curiosity till another day; for the time being, she was wide awake,at very least.

''Don't go replacing me,'' a thin voice trickled from her lips; still encompassing her cheek, ''Not till I've gone away; ok?''

Seeing her this thin made some wild sense possess his arms; that were even behaving as he tried wrapping them as close to around something they'd go through as possible; his disgust at the odd sensation only a prevalent under-thought. 

''But that might be never.''

The opportunity for a 'moment' had been squandered.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mostly filer, with a bit of a plot dangler.

He wouldn't replace her, he would not.

Even if; that voice she wished had never been hers in any part in the first place told her he needed it; a reliable person who was also alive.

The first days; she had been merely cool too any other they met on their travels, she'd start off well enough, knowing of course they needed to secure some vital information, but as soon as the Doctor turned to laughing with, rather than at these new companions, as soon as brilliance in any measure was acknowledged and not passed aside, then she'd begin her mischief.

She tugged at hair, she laughed into ears; she gave long, detailed explanations of how the Doctor was the very worst of news, and almost all obliged, if not by running away; by shifting further from him in every way; empathy stifled, fear overwhelming.

She liked the runners best; even though she hated the look of disappointment they generated; because then, they could finally talk in peace, make quips, swap observations.

This arrangement worked out well; because he'd only given her two brief arguments over her actions, and she'd simply shrugged, telling him whoever was worthy enough had to live with the fact there was a ghost on board, or just wouldn't be suitable - if they couldn't handle ghosts, how could they be expected to handle cosmic horrors? 

Being far wiser and older; the infinite master of chaos and reason, he ''this, Clara, is your post life retirement, and you gave the impression you wanted no one in the universe to impede upon it.''

She knew how smug he looked; even with her back turned to him, and snappy words fell limp in her throat - he was right, she had always been an indecisive woman. 

''You think that I'm still the only one who can take care of you - I might be the only woman in the universe to put up with you, but that is completely different. If you want someone else, more power to you; I'm just giving them a quality check,I mean, you really wouldn't want to have to travel with someone stupid.'' 

His shoulders tensed at this; the air cooled, once again, she had taken a step somewhere she was never meant to go. 

''I have taken many who wouldn't fit the narrow, human definitions of intelligence, Dodo, Vicki, Jo, Donna.....Rose,'' the name caught in his throat, from love or shame, she could not tell,''true stupidity lies within the moral compass, and pretending it's somewhere it is not. There have been two such men I can remember, and one of them, of course...''' he choked on his own laugh, his face left with the shadow of smile; and for just one moment, she was convinced she had the will to stop her silly little games; and let the inevitable other make their entrance smoothly. 

But, as always, the stupid thing happened over the poignant, and ''You let an extinct bird in?'' escaped her mouth.

''Not exactly,'' he smiled, all too glad to be interrupted from his honesty; still stirring up opaque storms inside his stomach, guilt and nostalgia his deadly combination.

''Though, she was exactly as flighty - even nearly killed us all, thanks to her case of the sniffles. Nothing wrong with birds in any case, Frobisher was a damn sight more sympathetic than some of my other companions.''

She knew not to ask about that; a story that was wrong in the fragile atmosphere they'd stirred, far too comic to be aired in an unbalanced room, with unbalanced minds.

Perhaps when she comes on, she smiled her signature light sadness; wondering how her memories could possibly be treasured when there were new ones to make, with someone with the gift of breath; a clean slate, without two loves tearing each other apart, and without finding darkness such a comforting thing in its omnipresence, in its earthy shades. 

Of course she'd be pretty enough to love without problem; without stiffness and irritation, clever, sharp as knives and brave.

How didn't those things seem so ordinary to him he could no longer class them as virtues; no, she hadn't known them, but she couldn't help but feel all the ones before her were the same; a feeling that disturbed her, rather providing the warmth it did before.

The Doctor was a man of words unspoken, the ones he uttered having very little consequence, the TARDIS had been wonderful at visions, for a moment, and then of course, the sleeping beauty sting in her tail.

She was going to have to play detective, map out all their differences, who'd she'd have loved and hated, if she had the chance; who, somehow, was too compelling a figure not to make sure they'd have a proper meeting - he'd do anything for her if she framed it the right way; she knew, and she had seen far too many anomalies for him to declare it impossible. 

Thinking, feeling; both so hard when she wanted to rest and only rest, her weary unbody in constant drowsiness, perhaps the price for dropping out of heaven.

''Clara,use that mouth of yours again; you've seemed to lost your fondness for it.''

She very nearly laughed, this was from a man who created silence, nurtured and pruned it like precious garden plants, and she was making him afraid - well, there was hope for her yet; that his soul his life would gladly fall into her hand, ready for her to go to normality with only a minimal regret.

Then, of course, she'd have only a minimal fragment of herself; but that fragment would be a damn sight happier than her.

''I doubt either of us need more time brooding, Clara,'' he sighed, 'so, a surprise, one ;I intend we make the most of.'' Her hand reached for his then, so grateful he had turned from snap to sweetness, mostly, faced with no real choice; and all the offputting things about the change pushed back till further notice, till the slight pangs turned into gnawing of the chest, and most days, she could pretend she felt nothing at all about it quite easily.

Her fingers gripped his, then she lent onto his shoulder, replacing the grimace and shudder that came with her every touch with a picture of serenity; a fantasy fit for other, normal people she'd like being for an hour or so, till her hunger kicked back in, for her shiny new reality. 

''Right.'' he interjected, doubtless making up some vague reason for it in his mind; looking out at the console screen; he saw a magnificent, opulent thing he didn't dare set foot in.

It screamed trigger, it screamed her trickery and trails, and it was the perfect place for her to loose all sense of self and reason.

She would not step a foot there. 

Laughing was the only response to him sprawled out, arms and legs barriers from the door, his face absorbed in concentration; as he forgot what she could bring herself to do, an eyebrow raised, pretending it was a challenge. 

She could end it in a split second. 

Clara; you commanded me once, to turn back and never question; this is my command to you, and you will Not disobey it - in three point five seconds the TARDIS will...''

And, of course, she had walked straight through him.

It seemed callous, whenever she did that, far removed from the love she'd now confessed; his body was now an obstacle to something, but also to a humanity that had been stretched through death; not to mention it repulsed him, feeling every inch of her, sculpted in ice, every detail of her skin mocked by death's cruel touch.

A touch he'd never know; certain he'd float among supernovas that brought about the ultimate destruction. 

A woman stepped in front of them, muttering lightly to herself, dark and tall, in very faintly dirty clothes.

''You think I'd think this was here always?'' A small smirk curled, ''and, of course, you have your spirit. Take care with that one; suspicion may be savior.'' 

As Clara rolled her eyes and started walking, eager to get away, the woman grabbed her wrist.

''Now, let's get a look at you..''


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new character is explored, the writing is hopefully a little better, plot details are actually within my reach. Thanks to each new reader and for every kudos and comment :)  
> P.s researching Physiognomy is a pain, but an interesting one.

She should have screamed; she should have roared and pierced the woman’s ears; give her something to be weary of, but she choked on the air in her throat; her bones felt ice inside them; and this woman; stupidly wise, was not someone she’d imagine she could hate.

She was a woman with a story; just like the rest of them.

A black woman, in a place and time that couldn’t be good for her, with a third eye that may well be better blind – how could she not be interested in that.  
Clara shook her arm free of the hand that gripped it.

The Doctor was by no means slow to push her out.

‘‘There is no spirit here, and this has always been a permanent fixture; goodbye, and try make sure your mind isn’t riddled with superstition any longer.’’ He slammed the door shut in her face; eyebrow raised in triumph. 

‘‘Rude.’’ Clara huffed, arms folded.

‘‘I thought you didn’t want anyone intruding; besides, she’d probably poke about with you; ask her to contact some dull family of hers; I thought you’d be a little happier.’’

‘‘Those were risks I was prepared to take,’’ she eased her way into an argument, feeling her cheeks burn,’’ she could have helped me find out what I’m meant to do, where I’m meant to be; just to pretend I’m normal, and we could talk, properly; and you could pretend the words were hers. You’ve always needed a companion; you cannot travel alone,   
now…’’ I need one too; because I’m turning into you, with different darkness’s but equal lies.

‘‘You’re proposing that I use her?’’ He was calm, with the same intonation his versions of I love you came to see the light of day with; but the anger shook her, the anger she couldn’t pretend she didn’t deserve.

It wasn’t, of course, that he hadn’t used anyone before; every single one of them was his own pet morality, even if they did grow into friends or misguided lovers, who took advantage of his extra heart; but that she, his Clara willed it of him; going someplace he couldn’t recall from any other. 

Perhaps he deserved it, seeing her as this other thing.

She’d never deserve to become it.

'‘No,’’ he was ready to shout, ‘‘no, not on your authority or anyone else’s; I do not need another bad choice to be led into.’’ He could scream it; become a time lord with victorious authority, eyes ablaze, heart set into the right.

But he had to entertain the possibility she wanted to become this person; and that he could not adore just the pretty half of her and expect love to be thrust onto him. 

‘‘Not really.’’ She looked down to the floor; of course she was.

Maybe she’d learn to be a friend to her; maybe that could ease her guilt.

‘‘Well, then; I might have to agree with you.’’ He sighed, opening the door again.

The woman hadn’t moved, though her face was in a grim scowl.

‘‘Why didn’t you…?’’

‘‘Go off,’’ a smile played about her lips, ‘‘because I wanted to be proven right for once. I’d ask why you haven’t gone back already; but I’m gonna’ love hearing you admit you lied to me. Just let me take a gander at that girl; if you don’t man handle me again. You’re not wary of a ghost; but you are of a black girl, well, doesn’t that figure?’’

‘‘I think you’ll come to find I’m wary indiscriminately.’’

She gazed into his face, eyes screwing up intensely; mouth curled in a slight frown.

‘‘Rectangular – mostly,’’ she muttered, scaring him a little, ‘‘melancholy people often are. You should have known you’d end badly; she’s far too stable for a guy like you.’’

‘‘Ah; so she’s a triangle then?’’ he commented, hoping she’d learn not to blabber on so.

The glare he received told him not to push his luck.

‘‘Physiognomy, and don’t be so shaken even I can find it out. She’s far to stable for you; or she was, for a time. She wouldn’t have crossed over so soon if she had common sense.’’

He could not stand to travel with her, this woman who said Clara had walked into her own death, who thought she could not have fallen into tragedy, and all the ones he’d seen die too young just lacked some sensibility.

‘‘Forgive me; not a kind to say; my own ma passed early too – but you’ve clung hard to this one; that’s why neither upstairs nor down will have her.’’

‘‘Shrewd.’’ A quality he admired, but could never truly like. 

‘‘I think I’ll take that as a compliment. Now, you gonna let me in?’’

He showed her around without the usual pomp, his head aching of all the possibilities that Clara could fall into; but he mustered smiles where he could and felt guilt that this woman was not properly welcomed. 

‘‘Well; I did tell you I knew this wasn’t here yesterday.’’ She grinned, expression lifted, ’‘oh, come on,’’ she gave a sad little smile, tilting her eyes towards him, ‘’you really think I’d want to hurt her? What’s this ghost girl’s name, anyways?’’

‘‘She’s not a ghost girl, she’s a human woman,’’ he have snapped at her if he wasn’t so tired, grateful that his fatigue prevented him from being too acidic, ‘‘I,’’ the word sorry was still a foreign thing to him, ‘‘I’ll have to find a better way to thank you. Her name’s Clara.’’

‘‘Well, Clara, I’ve no reason to hurt you; and you haven’t shown me any reason to get an exorcist, so if you stay civil we’ll get along just fine. You’re either very lucky to have him or going out of your mind – but if you’re one you’re probably the other,’’ it was odd to see her joking after such severe inspection, ‘‘I suppose grabbing you wasn’t the best thing if I wanted a little look at you, but maybe we’ll make up for it.’’

She looked like a lovely woman from where she was standing, oh so trustworthy, prepared and kind; but there was an undercurrent of evolution there, not quite in the right way either, if a right way existed.

Whatever else she looked like; this Clara looked like she might just have confused her for an equal. 

‘It’s a time machine.’’ She wondered how she got the courage to talk, but didn’t notice the words escaping, ‘‘he forgot to tell you; he’s a bit manic now; not one for remembering much. What’s your name?’’

‘‘Della. Has much changed?’’ She thought it wouldn't have.

Clara looked at both of her companions with regret; but only one with love. 

‘‘Only everything.’’


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up, and explanations are alluded to (will actually be solidified in the next chapter, which may be the last or second to last) I will revise the rest of the story as some bits fell a bit flat, and past chapters need rounding out. I hope you enjoy :)

Only everything indeed, she smiled.

Her cynicism wondered who exactly that everything was for; what creed they’d have to be; but the love they shared was written upon their faces; the lines and worries carved with it, and that, truly, was what the everything was for.

‘’Well, then.’’She frowned, not one for wasting a smile upon two foolish lovers, ‘’perhaps you can show me the mechanics of this everything?’’  
So a lever was pulled, and blinding lights twinkled in their brightness; like hope to cloud reality.  
2014 - that, she forgot to notice, was where she was heading; and she tried to concentrate on what could have changed - transport, fashion, certainly - from the looks of each of them.

She didn’t dare hope for the bigger things; the better ones, for any sense of justice.

She hadn’t had the optimism for disappointment, and it would not change for some flight of fantasy she was invited into.

‘’So,’’ Clara tried easing her way into uneasy conversation, ‘’What are you like, then; no, sorry, that’s a bit vague, really - why could you see me?’’   
Luck, the word, was in her mouth; the truth of sight.

Like any other sinner, she preferred a good old lie. 

‘’Intuition.’’ Her face was still; no betrayal lay in it, but the sparkle of this woman’s eyes made Clara feel that touch safer, that solidarity was to be found.   
She was immune to the rumbling and quaking now; the woman before her looked barely haken by it either; a very good concealer of surprise.

‘’What are you like,’’she prompted, ‘’a face can only give so many hints. This world of yours; what sort of women has it bred?’’  
So many types, she laughed; the ones she used to scowl at, with hair ratty from years of bleach and tacky shoes, the ones she felt guilt for mocking after she’d grown up.  
The type who seized chances, who took risks, who cried and crumbled to their knees, who wept and warred and won, and lost so many parts of themselves ; so many women, to be found inside one woman, let alone them all.

The woman of a different time, waiting her words eagerly, mouth opened slightly in suspense, gave her the world's hardest question, after those of love had dawned upon her, and been answered so easily, too easily by far, by the calling of necessity. 

‘’As many different types as always, Della, that’s a bit of a cop out, I know.’’She laughed, suddenly shy.  
How strange that after longing, for the dark and for love, the lightest, or so most had supposed, of all things, she longed only to remember the mechanics of a normal person; that rare old thing, even though this person’s second sight suggested anything but normality. 

‘’Not really.’’

Clara’s eyes did have darkness; but god, did they have such exquisite sadness too; luring everyone with any shred of empathy straight into them.  
She’d make a very, very good trap.   
If, of course, she wasn’t one already.

The Doctor walked to them, each step emphasized with the great presence he was trying to convey, breaking up their small and fragile conversation.

‘’Come on, girls,’’he grumbled, ‘’I wouldn’t want Della here to miss her thank you.’’  
‘’Why are you thanking her?’’ A stupid question, one met with the scthing answer of a look.

Little had changed, with love an announced thing, not invading every corner, she sighed.

She thought it would be easier, harder, not this shade of stagnant. 

With their quiet admonitions, Della grasped the door, not quite ready to open it, the weight of a new world at her fingertips; hope pouring into her unchecked.  
She pulled, the plaster off a wound, and revealed not a wound at all, instead, a wonder; a wonder of a bright city; with unclouded air or thoughts, bustle and chatter and light around her, and she could laugh, her lips were twitching.  
Go on, they said, embrace this moment.

There were a few things stopping her, however - namely, the fact that no one seemed to know or care about the box before them, the strange metal slabs a few people had in hand, the smaller things some pressed against their ears.  
Metal men had never factored into her imagination, either. 

A woman danced around them, in a dress that looked back to her time, not this foreign one licking her lips as her hawk eyes noticed the brilliant blue box, as the two within it wouldn't notice one fragment of the world until they had to.   
She walked towards her, and the smile faded into a scowl, arms wrapped around each other.

‘’Well, I never thought this would happen - quite the opposite. I will snatch him back, however, you can be quite assured of that.’’That whimsy smile returned, grew to one that bared her teeth, ‘’yes, I shall. He has misbehaved. I will wait for him. But much longer...’’  
This woman smelt of breezy cruelty, it flickered in her eyes; she would have spat at her if she thought she would have noticed; she who announced a world she couldn’t care about to her.

‘’Can ya not interrupt my thank you, please.’’The nicety was hissed, venomous; like a slap aimed at the woman of cruelty.

‘’Oh, I’ll kill you later, please don’t tempt me now. I’m Missy, by the way. I thought I ought to announce it to someone while I’m waiting.’’  
Finally, the Doctor walked out with Clara; neither with defined expressions, as each set of eyes tried inspecting the new figure before them.  
‘’Hello,’’’ Missy ran to the Doctor; a curl of distaste on Clara’s lips, ‘’I’ve waited far too long, believe me.’’She proceeded to do the awkward thing; the most awkward thing either of them could imagine, kissing the doctor; deeply,with a length of minutes.

Calra began to seethe, a face of desert red visible to all; never mind her ghostly pallor.

Missy pulled away, finally, before pulling back to bite the Doctor’s bottom lip.

Another disattatchement, and she beamed.  
‘‘ He's mine. Too bad for you, Clara, hun, commiserations.’’

She had been seen, again - a miracle, or curse?

‘’You have made all of this possible, my dear - but I’m afraid it’s my turn to overtake the role of doting obsessive. You're knocked off the cast list now, ta’raa,’’ she waved away, giving the little grimace smile again, reaching to her pocket to produce another metal thing, with two red glares, which distinctly wrote a warning.   
‘’Did you kill her?’’The Doctor asked, his voice subdued to the edge of madness, clean as a blade;showing every sign he would become a murderer.

‘’Would it matter, really- she can’t remember a thing about how she popped off, croaked, jumped from the lowly mortal coil our kind are so good at avoiding; et cetera, et cetera. Be honest, pet; her death did wonders for you. You even decided to love her. I’ll do away with that complication. Her death brought you such joy, so I’ll just perform your favourite little trick again.’’

Through all this, Della observed the men of metal; who should, by now, have done some treacherous or righteous thing; but were just extras on the stage; and heard footsteps behind them all.  
Each one loaded with weight.

‘’I thought you had died.’’ A weary, gravelled voice observed from behind her, one she wouldn’t turn to.

Clara’s face was a shaken one, like she had witnessed death itself; each emotion in her eyes conflicting; jealousy a hard flint in the doctor’s glare. 

‘’I...I thought so too. I was, I really was...but, but...’’She battled with the words, all shaken in her sentences.  
‘’But you were with him, weren’t you? Why didn’t you just say,’’ the voice writhed in agony, each intonation strained, ‘’If you just said,' yes, I’m sorry, I love him'; we’d have broken up - you wouldn’t have broken me up; broken up our school - you were missing for two months, Clara; two, before we knew you died. And you didn’t, did you? All because you loved him.’’

Her legs shook, her face crumpled, tears ready to stream, sobs ready to rack her bod, as she gently swayed in anxiety.  
Again the Doctor gave the glance of a murderer.

‘’Don’t you dare,’’ his voice became low growl, barely audible; a subtle knife with no pretence of subtly at all, ‘’don’t you dare make her feel any worse; she has died and resurrected and all you, little man can think to do is to make her feel guilty.’’

‘’And you; sir,’’a mock salute was made again, ‘’you’re trying to make me guilty for emotion. Professional detachment - is that the type of love you give her?’’  
Della felt like a voyeur, looking into these lives, entwined, some sort of intruder, but Missy’s hand pushed her back into sight when she tried to edge away.  
She wanted her unease. 

Clara had nearly thrown herself to the ground, but instead, straightened her quivering body, held her head as high as possible, and screamed, for every inch that she was worth.  
‘’Stop!’’ she became hoarse, before repeating herself in a calmer voice, ‘‘If I know anything about any of us, it’s that this is bigger than all of us combined.This is the time to fight for the Earth. Not amongst ourselves. That can come later.’’

Missy waltzed over to the man, dragged him in front of Della’s eyes, where she could not pretend he was nothing to any of them, and gave such a triumphant gaze.   
‘’It worked out rather differently to what I had in mind, Doctor, you see, this upstanding moral citizen,’’ she put her arm around his shoulder, tilted her head, pretending to adore him, ‘’ was going to have a leetle accident- but then; well,then your infidel lover popped her clogs instead and, well, the opportunity could not be wasted to pull some strings and to observe you; my old friend, scandalous as ever,’’he,’’ she pointed once more, ‘’was going to become one of them; whom you have failed to notice for my presence,’’ she indicated the metal men, and his face became white, ‘’and he was going to kill you. Now; everything’s more interesting; you shall kill each other with your words before I make her kill either of you. My bit of salt before the proper wound. And lovely entertainment.’’

The Doctor walked, calmly, deliberately, before her, and spat his words, throwing up his arms.

‘’You are playing with our lives, and the lives of all this world - what do you think you can achieve, why do you think this will make you any better, any harder to defeat. Come on Miss egomaniac, give us a name we can write on your cell or on your grave?’’  
‘’It’s Missy.’’ Della held on to each hand, looking down unto the ground. Any words felt odd in her mouth, her interruption giving a sour taste, but she had to say it. 

‘’Short,’’the woman herself explained, ‘’for Mistress. Oh come on Doctor. My perfect idiot. YOU. CAN.GUESS.’’ this woman, Della sneered, hated her spotlight being snatched anyway, even for a moment. 

‘’Only you,’’the Doctor shook his head, oddly sorrowful, his countenance now as drawn and gaunt as Clara’s, ‘’The master.’’


End file.
